I'll follow, whereever you go
by bethanie-xo
Summary: When John finds out Sherlocks alive and wants to meet he's nervous, he's scared. But then he finds and old stash of Sherlocks, drugs are meant to calm the nerves, right? written on phone, sorry for spelling/grammar mistakes


John Watson sat at his chair, his laptop was open with only one page up. 'suicide of fake genius' the news exclaimed. It's been three weeks and he still made sure to read it throughout the days, in case a message was left for him, and sometimes just to prove it was real. He still woke up in the morning and made two cups of tea, two plates worth of food, only to realise that he wasn't coming back.

"John. When are you going back to work?" Harry's harsh voice broke through his daydream, "Well? I'm worried about you." yeah, now bring out the caring sister.

"Why are you here, Harry?" he asked simply, not bothering to answer her question, "You only come here when you want something or when something's gone wrong. Why are you here?"

"Clara threw me out, but I am worried."

John laughed lightly, "You need a place to stay? Fine, it's not like anyone else lives here." he winced slightly at his own comment.

"Where is he?" Sherlock shouted at his brother as his fists collided with the top of the table. He went to baker street and could see no-one so went directly to his brother. "Where is he?" he shouted again.

"Sherlock, calm down, he's only been gone a day, he's probably at your gravestone again." Mycroft frowned at his brother, a sympathetic smile playing on his emotion.

"Why would he be there? That's ridiculous!" Sherlock shouted. His fists hit the table again and he glared at his brother.

Mycroft only sighed and then pulled up the cameras on his computer. "Since Harry moved in with him he has been spending more time out, or just generally avoiding her. Whenever he goes out he is always led to your grave." he explained.

"John Watson?" a voice spoke from behind John and he turned around slowly.

"Who wants to know?" he asked suspiciously. Trust no-one. That's what his time with Sherlock taught him. The man, no, he was a mere boy. The boy that stood in front of John had that youthful glow in the way he stood but the sort of maturity that you don't gain overnight.

"I have a letter for a Dr. John Watson." the boy, clearly homeless, pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it over to John.

"Who's it from?" John asked, his eyes narrowing.

His eyes looked around the graveyard, "Can't say."

"Well, where is whoever wrote it?"

Once again the boy looked around and said: "Can't say."

"Well, you're a big help." John rolled his eyes and turned back to the grave stone, he barely noticed the boy slip away.

John, I'm alive. If you want me to return to baker street then meet me at speeds bakery at 5, you can either invite me up to return or you can tell me to 'piss off' your choice.-Sherlock Holmes.

"What the hell, Mycroft?" John shouted to the older Holmes. "It's written on paper from your office and you expect me to think its you playing a sick, twisted joke on me?" he spat the words out as if they burnt his tongue. "You remember what I told you after he died, what I confessed to you. Why would you do this?" he finally broke off for air and stared at Mycroft.

Mycroft say there for a few minutes, he eventually breathed deeply, "You done?" he got a minute nod from John so decided to go on, "Thank you. Did it occur to you that my brother came here, wrote the letter here?"

"He hates you." John stated.

"Yes, but he loves himself, you believe he would jump off of a building?"

John hesitated at Mycrofts reasoning, "I hadn't thought of it like that..." he trailed off.

"I wouldn't tease you with your confession, I knew it would happen, and I knew I would get the same confession from Sherlock, so go to wherever he wants to meet and talk." he commanded, "You have to go now, I have a meeting with the foreign securities minister." he said as he stood up to usher John out.

Needing no more explanation John turned on his heels and walked out of the office, back to the flat.

Gone to the pub, be back later on tonight.-HW

"Big shock." John muttered. He threw the letter in the bin and finally everything that had happened truly hit him. He lashed out and punched the wall, a huge hole formed and he oils hear a light thud, as of something had fallen down the inside of the wall.

He grabbed a torch and looked down it, he still had at least 4 hours to spare so he decided to find out what is was.

All he could see was what looked like a plastic bag, he could see the contents but he knew he could get to it.

The wall was flimsy, it took only a few kicks to break through and grab the bag.

"Oh, sherlock." he groaned. /He's not even here yet I'm finding his drugs/ he thought to himself.

John went to sit on the sofa, he still held the bag in his hands, he was unable to loosen his grip, but he heard drugs made your body relax, all doctors are taught that.

He didn't even realise what he was doing until the needle was in his arm and he was pressing the contents in.


End file.
